Sand
by Alcalina
Summary: "What doesn't kill you, makes you wish you were dead." After ROTS, Obi-Wan and Padme are stranded on Tatooine, crumbled and falling apart. With two newborns. AU where everything is the same, except that there is some implied Obikin and Padme survives. Obi-Wan/Padme
1. 1

_I woke up in the middle of the night with this story already written in my head._ _Each scene, each dialogue._

 _It called, I answered._

 _I don't even ship Obidala!_

 _Please, let me know what you think. Especially if it sucks._

 _(Could be a sequel of my other fic, Mud. Maybe.)_

* * *

Her hair is spread on the bed like a cloth.

I take away a lock sticking to her forehead and caress her head.

She calls my name, feverish.

I hold her cold hand, and all I can think is that I shouldn't be here, that I stand where he should stand.

The Force could ease her pain, but reaching for it makes me sick.

I let her suffer.

Living Healers would shout and run, droids' movements are calm, precise, surreal. They say she's dying the way they'd read me the time.

My eyes linger on the panel that covers the lower half of her body and prevents me from seeing whatever I'm not supposed to - out of respect, maybe, or just as weird kind of prudery.

I turn my head to Yoda and Organa, witnessing to her sufferings from behind the glass.

'You shouldn't see this. Go away.' I'd shout if I still had a heart.

Everything is wrong.

Her hands frantically clench mine, leaving red carvings on my skin.

My name is a plea, between tears.

At least, her physical pain matches her inner one. I could use some pain too.

A last, hoarse cry takes me back.

"Luke," she says under her breath. "Leia."

Her eyes search mine for a promise. The droids give them to me, she's giving them to me.

"Obi-Wan... there is... good in him. I know there is..."

Padme is dying. I have her newborns, Anakin's son and daughter, in my arms.

I feel nothing.

The babies are taken back, and I'm carried out of the room. I keep watching through the glass, hypnotised by all this efficiency around a dying young woman.

I'm so exhausted it's astonishing I'm still functioning.

Yoda looks at me with a concern I've never seen in him. I want to hate him because he has sent me there, and I find out I can't.

We're plotting.

I talk too, I organise, I decide, and, frankly, I don't know how I am doing this.

I suspect they wonder the same; I catch them searching for something broken on my face when they think I'm not looking.

I tell them that, if she lives, they can't take the children. I try to sound derogatory, surprising myself because I didn't know I could still wish for something.

Sitting side by side, we wait to know what it will be of her as our plan slightly changes in either or the other way.

If she dies, Organa will tell everybody her unborn son died with her.

He will take the girl on Alderaan, to raise her as his own.

I will take the boy to his uncle, on Tatooine, and watch over him.

If Padme lives, I'll go there with the three of them, to keep them hidden.

Whether this is the case, Organa will use the death of Padme's handmaiden to our advantage and will bury Sabè in spite of her.

Why Tatooine and what we're supposed to do there is only clear to Yoda.

He rants on about training, Force sources, ghosts, and I don't want to listen to these things anymore.

I give up and trust him once more, probably just because I'm not strong enough to raise any objection.

The wheels start moving the moment they tell us she will survive.


	2. 2

The farm is rotting, falling apart, though big enough to house a herd of Banthas.  
Instead, there is only us, wandering through empty, dusty rooms like ghosts. Avoiding each other, or piercing like stranded cats when we inadvertently meet.

I fear what I might see closing my eyes, so I don't sleep. When I am awake, I'm numb, and my head is void. I do all I can to keep it this way.

The babies were born a few weeks early, they are weak, skinny and wrinkly.  
Padme is weak too, frail as a bird, barely able to stand, eats nothing. I somewhat expect her to simply vanish, one day.  
She can't look at me, my presence alone pains her.

A few days after our arrival, she calls my name. This is the first time I enter her room or hear her voice. We have the longest words exchange we'll have for days.

Padme sits on her bed, looking like she's not here; red cheeks on a pale face, probably fevered, hair frames her features like dark curtains. I realise I've never seen her wearing it down before.  
Her white nightgown is open, a small head covers her bare breast.

"They told me you can't do that," I tell her.

She stares at the nothing outside the window.

"You're too debilitated to feed them. They gave me a medicine I must give to you to... you know."  
I foolishly hope that talking of this will spare me.

Her gaze finally sets on me. "I need you to say it out loud."

I fight to keep my eyes steady. "He's dead. I killed him."

 _Liar._

"How?"

She waits. I say nothing.

"Did he suffer?"

"He didn't."

 _Disgusting liar._

She looks down at the head on her lap, and I imitate her.

"I'm not taking any medicine."

I have no authority to make her change her mind, but I can get something back. "Provided that you stop fasting."

.

Over the following days, Padme still refuses to let me take care of her but is too tired to decline my help looking after her children.  
I try to replicate what she does, wondering who taught her.

Anyway, I learn how to change a newborn.  
I swear that, if I have ever been adamant about something in my life, it was that I would have never.  
You grab those chicken legs in one hand and let the other do the rest.  
Hold steady and try to be as quick as you can, they are slippery like fishes.

At night, if Padme is sleeping, or already feeding someone, I take who's crying and just... I don't know, try things until something works.

A week later, I'm half asleep in a decrepit rocking chair in the courtyard. I got outside to let Padme rest.  
Luke - at least I believe is him, mostly I can't tell one from the other until I unswaddle them - naps on my chest, in a blanket.  
He has been crying for an hour straight, I have no idea why, and now is red and exhausted.  
I'm exhausted as well.  
The desert wind lulls us, the sky is the blackest, the loneliest I have ever seen. My mind slips.

Sometimes, I forget there's nothing left.  
The Temple and its people might be still there, I just went away, nothing else happened.

A sharp thought, like a clean wound. Old friends, lost friends - everyone's dead.

I hold Luke closer. This child resembles him.  
Not who I met last time, just Anakin.

I managed to keep myself empty until tonight, and now I am making a mess.

.

We don't really have meals. We just grab stuff from the pantry, possibly when we are alone, and eat it standing somewhere.

Despite our frugality, the provisions they gave us on Polis Massa are not infinite.  
I struggle between our need for supplies and my fear of leaving her alone until I can't postpone any longer.  
Finally, I decide Padme is well enough to spend a few hours on her own and rush the long trip to town on the rusty speeder I bought when we arrived.

Getting away from the choking eeriness of the farm should bring some relief, though the desert, Mos Espa... Anakin is in everything I see.  
I buy all I can aimlessly, bundle it on my vehicle and hasten back.

It is dusk when I arrive and find Padme sitting on the pourstone doorsteps. Her hands and clothes are dirty, the hair is a dishevelled clump. If it weren't impossible, I'd say she is smiling.

"I cleaned the house while you were away." She wipes her sweated face, leaving a brown trail of dirt on her cheek. "Well, part of it."

"Oh," I comment.

We bring my purchases inside in silence.

"Half of what there is in this farm is broken," she continues, as talking to the kitchen counter.

We keep storing food and clothes for a while before I answer.

"I will try to do something for the vaporators, first. So that we can have more water."

She cracks a sad, distant smile.  
Fixing mechanisms was someone's else field.  
I wish I had kept my mouth shut.

.

It takes two weeks, a couple of trips to town for spare parts, some swearing and a lot of sweating under two Suns, but I fix those vaporators anyway.  
They snarl and rumble like angered Anoobas, but they work.

We celebrate with long, lavish showers.  
Wrapped in fresh towels, we all feel brand new.

"My Master used to say there are quite a few things a hot shower can't cure." I blurt out.

 _You di'kut._

But Padme just nods, smiling at the baby in her arms. Her daughter grins back, and this is the first time I see Leia's smile.  
I'm so excited that I open my mouth to remark it, but no word comes out.  
Leia has just learnt how to keep her head steady, and peers at me, as waiting for my comment.

"Your skin is burnt," says Padme, pondering my shoulders. "You are so bright I could see you from Mos Eisley."

I shrug.

She hands me Leia and starts rummaging in a chest that laid forgotten in a corner since our arrival. She gets back to me with a small bottle in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other.

"Here, lotion. Put it on."

We stare until she lowers her gaze. Awkward, though in a weird, nice way.

"What's with the scissors?" I ask.

"Cut my hair, please."

"No," I answer without a thought. "...I mean, why?"

"Too hot, too dirty. Can't take care. Can't stand it anymore."

She wants to sound cheerful, but last words were desperate.

"Can't, Padme. I'm sorry."

I cut Anakin's hair for ten years.  
We managed to ruin the first five lighthearted minutes we spent on Tatooine.

"It's okay." She pulls a lock from her forehead and cuts it near her skin.

I raise my hand to stop her - don't know why - return Leia, lay a towel on the floor, and put a chair on it.

"All of it," she says, sitting.

I run my fingers through her wet hair, and her eyes close.  
Last time I touched her was on Polis Massa.  
Last time I touched Anakin like this was a life ago.

"Are you sure?" I ask, and she nods.

When I'm done, Padme looks like a child - a sad, thin, scared one. Her eyes seem even bigger, her face even smaller.  
She caresses her new head once and doesn't bother finding a mirror to look at herself.


	3. 3

Padme needs time to get used to the strange boy she keeps seeing in mirrors and window glasses, and so do I. The volitive, impeccable, impressively up-doed woman I knew is nothing like this cotton covered lost creature.

I guess she thinks the same of me, minus the up-do detail. I catch her gaping in my direction, from time to time, looking puzzled.

We tacitly started a new game. In my mind, I call it 'stay numb'. The goal is arriving at sunset tired enough to win a comatose night.

The twins help a lot, of course; we do our part pursuing endless tasks, endless fixings, endless cleaning.

The farm starts looking like something one can live in. We built Japor wood cots for Luke and Leia when they couldn't fit in their baskets anymore. I repaired more vaporators, now we have enough water to start a Hydroponic garden. We soon eat our own pallies and tatoes. It seems that I fulfilled my fate and ended up in the Agricorps, after all. Padme completed her metamorphosis with an unusual tan. I just got red.

We don't talk much but tend to gravitate one around the other.

When we fail our game, we meet at the kitchen table and wait for dawn in silence, drinking H'Kak tea. Close, but not able to reach.

"I can't stop rereading my life in light of what happened," she told me one of those mornings. "Each memory gets rancid, everything becomes a lie."

"We have no other choice," I answered. "Dismantle the past, then come back and try to recover something."

.

From time to time, we travel all together to Mos Espa, or Anchorhead, though Padme is not exactly eager to play the happy family and I often go on my own.

There aren't many holoviewers on the planet, and we both try to avoid the news, so we know very little about what's happening to the Galaxy.

Tatooine seems a haven for those who do not wish to be found. The truth is that, being so scarcely populated, everyone knows too much about everyone else.

Neighbours live at least half an hour of speeder from us; despite this, they soon get curious, and we must find new names.

Ben and Chordè; a nickname Satine gave me when we were embarrassingly young and the name of a loyal handmaiden. Friends who died because of us.

I'm afraid what we picked reveals we are more sentimental than we wish to admit.

We are so dazed we do not prepare surnames as well and end up keeping mine.

Luckily, this does not represent a problem. Kenobi is so common here that people often start their conversations asking if I'm a relative of one of their acquaintances from some remote place or another.

They refer to Padme simply as 'Mrs. Kenobi'.

She snickers every time.

.

My inability to feel, despite all the efforts to save it, has faded. These days, my anger doesn't spare anyone.

Neither my Master, whose obsession for a pathetic child caused the fall of the Order.

Nor Yoda, that made me do what I told him I couldn't and stranded me here without reason.

Nor Padme, so narrow-minded and selfish to let a Jedi get her pregnant.

Of course, above all, I'm angry at myself. Anakin did not turn in a day, I knew what was going on, and I did nothing. All the times I pushed him away, and all the times I kept him too near, only to make it worse. I hate myself for what I did to him on Mustafar and even more for what I did not.

Finally, I'm angry at Anakin. My anger toward him is so fierce I am somewhat surprised it doesn't have any visible emanation. I expect earthquakes when I walk or fire when I talk.

I'm shut to the Force, and I never think about the Code. Nevertheless, I'm still a Jedi -if ever this means something anymore - and I fight these feelings with all my being, though with scarce results.

I guess Padme is going through something similar, I see it in the way her eyes flame when she lays them on me.

Sadly, experiencing similar reactions does not help us in any way. Sufferings can't be shared, every living creature hurts alone.

One day, after the umpteenth 'Mrs. Kenobi', she snaps.

"Funny. I'm a Kenobi but I've never been a Skywalker, though I married one," she hisses and checks on my face if she managed to hurt me with the revelation.

I do not disappoint her.

.

That night, instead of disappearing into her room the moment the kids fall asleep, Padme comes to sit at my side on the doorsteps.

"I don't know why I said that," she tells me.

I shake my head. "It shouldn't matter anymore, and I guess you have all the rights to hate me."

"I don't." She frowns, looking hurt. "Do not believe this, please. I know you paid a high price."

We stare at the dunes.

The nights here seem immobile but are actually full of life. Most animals wake up at dusk to crawl and creak in the shadows, the wind changes every ten minutes.

"Has..." She bites her lips. "Has it ever been... _physical_ , between you?"

She stops my objections before I can raise them. "What difference does it make, now? You said it yourself."

"For a few weeks, a while ago," I answer, struck by the absurdity of this talk. "I'm sorry."

She dismisses the matter with a faint smile. "This changes very little. I shared Anakin with you from the beginning, and I could never compete. You were a formidable rival, I have been jealous of you for so long."

"You? Of me?" I let out a snigger. "I wish we had talked of this sooner. Anakin loved you. He only wanted me to be his property."

"I'm ready to argue about this whenever you want," she jokes.

Padme remains silent, then bursts out laughing.

Every time she tries to explain, she just worsens it, and I start getting infected.

Finally, she covers her face with a hand, I barely understand what she's saying. "You know, he had this threesome kink..."

I try to sound grave and fail. "I preferred not to know."

"We three... A huge bed..." Padme teases, peeking at my reaction from behind her fingers, about to choke. "A big, happy family."

"He may have said this, but he would've killed me if I ever touched you."

I remember the way Anakin glared at me when I got off Padme's ship.

"Of course," she smirks. "We should've been there exclusively for him. No interaction whatsoever between us two."

Our laughs scare away some Sand Skitters and make us feel both guilty and relieved.

When you break, the stars fall, the world ends; though they don't really. Pain doesn't kill you and, as strange as it may seem, it doesn't stop anything from happening.

Newborns keep growing, the Suns keep rising, your blood keeps flowing.

Your sufferings count nothing.

Tonight, Padme and I laugh together in the middle of nowhere as unlikely friends, asking ourselves what the kark is happening.

No matter how much we felt dead, we are not.

* * *

 _I have no idea what I am doing. ;)_  
 _Feedbacks, please!_


	4. 4

The babies are small animals.

They have a few ancestral, imperative urges that demand an immediate solution. You comply with them all, then you start again, and again. That's all.

Sometimes, even if all their needs are met, some new problem appears that you can't understand. Those are unpleasant moments for everyone involved.

They take a lot and give very little back; sporadic toothless grimaces, or satisfied sounds, once in a while.

What I like about them is the absoluteness of their feelings. Sheer desperation, closely followed by overwhelming contentment; you don't often witness this among adults.

Nursing them, Padme seems to share some of their satisfaction. All three live in their bubble, sufficient one to the others. Looking at them feels like peeking through a keyhole. She raises her shirt like I'm not there, baring ribs that jut out across her cleavage in parallel lanes. I can't help looking away, though she doesn't notice this, either.

.

One morning, Luke is having breakfast in the shadowy living room and, on an impulse, I ask her how that makes her feel.

"Mighty," she answers with a smile. "Your body is nurture; you are like a deity. Your needs are exactly complementary to those of another being. One rarely experiences this in a lifetime, if you think about it. So, I like it, even if it leaves me spending entire days glued to this armchair. Too much time on my own and a lot of nothing to do. I'm afraid it's not good for me."

Padme stops to change sides, and I stare at my feet.

When I raise my eyes again, she looks puzzled.

"I'm afraid I've already seen much more of Goddess Padme's breast than I was entitled to," I explain.

"Sorry about that," she giggles. "There's not much to see, you know... and I am at my historical maximum."

We exchange a quick, uncomfortable smile.

Our thoughts drift together to the thick absence that fills this house, this whole planet. We feel unbearably incongruous the moment we take a step out of our grief, so we are trapped.

A stupid talk like this is enough to make me feel an impostor.

This life is incompatible with me, with the person I was supposed to be. The more I look at it, the less sense it makes.

I fantasise about going away, but can't fully imagine leaving them here alone. Someone should take my place or, at least, we could all move someplace else.

My mind obsessively curls around these hypotheses, though each of them invariably dies after a couple of steps.

I wonder what we are doing here every day, and I'm sure Padme does the same. "Waiting," I eventually answer to myself. It rings true though I don't know what for.

.

Missing the Force is almost physical though I feel I do not deserve its comfort. What I would discover about myself looking at it scares me. I can't afford to see that Light is still out there, but out of my reach.

I envision my lightsaber and Anakin's buried together somewhere in the bottom of a chest and understand how much I cannot touch them. The place where our Bond was feels like a stump.

At night, Padme quietly cries behind her closed door. Her weeping sounds composed, restrained. I linger outside, and never resolve to enter.

The morning after, among razor-short hair, shadowed eyes and sharp cheekbones, her beauty is compelling.

As for me, I don't cry yet.

I dream a lot, though, and good dreams often feel worst than bad ones.

Nightmares of lava and dismembered bodies, I expect them. I wake up breathless, sweating. I have a walk around the house, check on the children, and go stare into the dark void outside.

My heartbeat returns to normal, and it's done, until the next night.

Other dreams... Those are cruel, and leave me gasping for days.

I'd give anything to silence them.

Once, Anakin smirks just before kissing me. I'm torn like I always was. When l finally give up, it feels like drowning.

This dream is both good and bad, the worst possible pairing. There's burnt human skin under my fingers; his pain runs intact through our unsevered Bond.

I'm upright, eyes wide open, panting. A hesitant hand is stroking my hair.

"Sorry I woke you up," I say when I'm calm again to the petite figure sitting on my bed.

In the shadows, I can only intuit her smile. "Don't be silly."

Padme lays down at my side, on the sheet. We stare at the darkness in silence.

"Mine are about choking, if you are wondering; I choke, the twins choke. Waking up, I'm so winded I fear I will not pull through..."

"Mustafar," I answer to her implicit question. "The younglings, sometimes."

She has turned her head to me; her breath is warm on my face when she demands to know what I saw.

I want to reply that I already told her, but I know she is not going to let it go.

"They were hidden in the Council Room, scared to death. His sight reassured them, they called his name in relief. He ignited his lightsaber and one of them - I wish I could remember his name - stood up to engage him. What I thought watching this was that Anakin would have been that kid, once. The brave one."

Padme's hand searches mine through the sheets but withdraws before finding it.

.

I wake up to the tentative cry of a baby.

There are four straight blades of light across my bed, a bare arm over my chest and a spiky head on my shoulder.

She feels small against me, my arm encircles her completely. Her scent is warm, cosy.

I instinctively touch the skin behind her ear and realise it has been a long time since I have been this physically close to anyone.

The cry intensifies.

When I try to slide away, I find myself imprisoned by her weight pinning the sheet around me. I'm not sure why, but all this is funny, and I must suppress a laugh.

Padme lets out a soft grumble and tightens her hug, one of her legs sliding over mine.

I let my head fall back on the pillow, and heave a sigh.

I've never stood the thought of someone worrying about me; I am the one who is there for others. Despite this, last night, Padme came to comfort me, and I let her.

Allowing someone to take care of you is harder than it seems.

Padme raises her head and drowsily looks around. When her eyes meet mine, she wrinkles her forehead and sits up, but doesn't spring from the bed as I expected.

"Tell me I wasn't drooling over you." She sounds more amused than embarrassed.

"Nothing major," I shrug and try a smile. "We already shared more than this, anyway."

Padme frowns, confused. When she finally gets what I am talking about, she covers her flushed face, both cringing and laughing.

I like her, this morning. She isn't wearing her grief yet and looks a bit like the old Padme, and a bit like someone new. I want to tell her this, to tell her that what she did felt good, that it mattered.

The babies in the adjacent room are getting impatient, and she leaves me before I can.

* * *

 _Thank you to my Padme expert and amazing editor truthisfreedom._


	5. 5

Sometimes, waking up, I try to remember how Padme's weight on me felt.

Most mornings, though, I open my eyes to a fleeting forgetfulness. When despair engulfs me again, I'm somewhat surprised that it didn't vanish overnight.

The nightmare incident changed something, but we pretend it didn't. To avoid seeming embarrassed, we are overly kind to each other and keep prattling about the mundane.

Most topics seem risky, so everyday life is our favourite subject.

When we touch, we make sure we do not escape the contact nor actively prolong it.

All our efforts to act natural only prove that we can't.

.

I know nothing about mothers, but I intuit Padme is a good one.

Despite this, she clearly yearns for someone, another woman, to give her advice and guide her.

"I'm afraid I don't really know what I'm doing," she confided once.

I'm moved by her unusual insecurity.

She needs a family, and all she has is me. Force knows, I'm not enough.

.

Loss has been a constant in my life - I know how it works.

I'm familiar with the recursive thoughts, the feelings of guilt and abandonment, and the struggle to find meaning.

This time, it's different; it's not about fitting the new emptiness in the old life.

There's no old life.

I was convinced I knew what to expect. Instead, I don't understand half of what I'm going through.

At times, I'm working outside, giving a bath to the twins, or about to sleep and, out of nowhere, my stomach gets tied up in knots. My heart races, my throat closes up, and breathing gets hard.

There's no dramatic or frightening thought in mind - it is a purely physical sensation, similar to the one preceding a fight. My body reacts to something that is not there.

It's so sudden and crippling that the fear of it's worst than the experience itself.

I know what I should do about it, but meditating scares me to the point that I prefer enduring this. Deep down, I believe if I don't try, I'll never find out I can't do it anymore. Postponing lets me imagine there's still something I can do to mend myself.

Spending time with the babies helps, even when it seems beyond what I can bear.

They need me, here and now. My panic does not impress them at all. This helps me emulate their attitude.

Padme's eyes are often on me when I'm with the children. I feared her judgment before I began noticing her wistful smiles.

I take care of them nearly as much as their mother does but I'm not their father, and I don't want to be.

I must admit, though, I've started appreciating them.

I like the fat folds on their wrists and ankles, the round, hairless spot on the back of their head, and even the disconcertingly soft one on the top, fluttering with every heartbeat - the way they pull my hair and beard, their slobbery mouths on my face.

They're borderline sentients, but I enjoy getting to know them. I keep wondering where their different personalities come from.

Leia looks pretty and pensive but is actually a brat. She tricks you into laughing when you try to scold her. You end up doing all she wants, and you are not even aware of it.

Her brother is stubborn and fearless - we'd better not lose sight of him. He loves a good laugh but is moody and, of course, terribly whiny.

Padme has not realised it yet, but he's a Force-sensitive.

I don't know how she might react if I tell her, and I put it off day after day. I hope the child will reveal himself to her, relieving me of the burden.

.

Luke and I bond, without even trying. It feels strange, with someone so young.

The first time, he's throwing toys and cutlery off from his high-chair without touching them.

I raise my eyebrows and, before realising it, I float them back to him.

Luke gurgles happily, ready to restart the game.

His pure, clean Signature is overwhelming. The Force is a piercing light after months of shadows.

The next moment, I sense a long-missed presence. My Master is wearing his annoying, mocking, warm smile.

Luke stares at him too, his spoons still hovering around us.

"I'm not the Jedi you wanted me to be," I mutter, fighting the tickle in my throat.

In my head, Qui-Gon's says that I'm too hard on myself, as usual; that I do not meditate enough and should reclaim my lightsaber.

Then, he's not there anymore.

I pick up Luke's playthings from the floor and give them back to him to throw down again. Then, I sit at the kitchen table and caress his baldish head, unable to do much else.

"Hey," Padme says from behind. "Weren't you supposed to feed him that pallie?"

.

Gathering the courage to follow my Master's first advice in thirteen years takes me a couple of days.

There's no need to go far, solitude is just five minutes away.

The wind continually moves the dunes, so they are both immutable and never the same. At dusk, I make for them, my heart pounding.

The sand is warm when I sit and sink my fingers into it. It gets warmer if I burrow deeper.

I sink into the Force in the same way, its warmth growing stronger as I submerge.

Unlike anything in my shattered world, the Force hasn't changed. It is there where it has always been and welcomes me as it always has. It embraces me, the way I do the children when they can't sleep. There's no judgement I must fear besides my own.

This is it, the moment I break.

I'm crying because I still have a place to be; something makes sense again.

"Hush, Padawan," says my Master. His affectionate expression behind my shut eyelids makes me go to pieces. "I have been waiting for you. You are where you're meant to be."

This makes it worst because I am not.

Can't he see how wrong all this is?

Darkness has swallowed everything. I should be fighting to restore Light, wielding my lightsaber on the battlefield.

"The whole Galaxy contrived to lead you to _this_ place... I wish it hadn't broken you to do it."

I breathe deeply to keep my focus, to keep listening and push denial back.

"The new hope is here, and it is your duty to preserve it. Nothing else matters. You will need your lightsaber, but not to fight."

* * *

 _What you liked of this is all thanks to my attentive, piercing editor_ truthisfreedom _._

 _Comments, good or bad, are always greatly, deeply appreciated. :)_


	6. 6

This month has been unbearably hot; we can barely breathe.

Doing anything during the day - let alone going to Anchorhead for provisions - has become too taxing. The vaporators' water is barely enough for us to drink and our garden is withering.

We've become night creatures, coming out when the Suns set to breathe cool air and to get some time alone. The captivity, idleness, and loss of creature comforts we earned are driving us closer to the edge.

Padme is losing what little weight she gained here and now looks lean, angular. She worries about her children, as tense as a trapped Dunecat. This, despite the fact that the only ones not suffering are the twins, rosy-cheeked and lively as always.

In town, old people laugh at our fears and insist the drought is going to end soon. Some speak of a time when it lasted for so long that animals and sand people started dying in droves, and you couldn't walk anywhere without stepping on their bodies.

This, until survivors raided towns and farms to eat regular people. Children first, of course.

These mischievous talebearers live for the look of fear they kindle in their unfortunate listeners.

I picture little Ani listening to these same stories with wide eyes. More likely, flipping them off.

I often find myself trying to imagine his life on this planet. I see a blond, cheeky kid running errands in the blistering heat or assembling his clutter droids in secret.

This desolate place shaped him, the experience of slavery built his core.

Living out here, I delude myself that he's nearby and that I will soon solve his mystery.

I must accept that, despite a life spent at his side, I'm never going to know him.

.

Today, I feel like I might lose my mind if I don't find something to do.

Before dusk, I decide it's time to follow through with what my Master asked.

I remove the cloth holding the lightsabers and take mine, making sure not to touch the other.

My eyes linger on it for a long time, though, and I find myself reflecting on who will have which one.

I shake my head, surprised by my own thoughts. That is certainly not for me to decide.

I head for the barren wastes; not too far from home, though far out enough not to have to explain myself.

Waves of heat rise from the hollow between the dunes, making them seem flooded.

The weapon in my hand is a relic from a forgotten past, but my fingers find their places around the hilt like they have never left it. Its familiar weight is comforting.

Igniting it, I stare at the long shadows on the sand and try not to remember the last time I armed myself.

My movements are frustratingly slow and stiff after all this time. I push myself harder.

 _Luke should have his father's. He is his firstborn, and the last of the male bloodline._

I dismiss the thought, but my mind keeps going back there.

 _I can only imagine him holding mine._

I fight to maintain my focus and wash away these fanciful ideas for good. I blame the drought for them too, telling myself the heat is playing tricks on my mind.

When the temperature falls, nearby rocks contract and burst in loud blasts that make me wince. A proton cannon is what I hear. The hair on my arms stands up, my senses fully alert.

Memories of blood and death, tinged by an inappropriate, bittersweet melancholy. Anakin said we were going to pine for the battlefield someday, and I glanced at him with reproach. I smile to myself now, imagining his face if he could see me admitting he was right.

The war gave us a common goal, a rightful place to be. We were part of something bigger. That was what being a Jedi meant.

Now, I'm on my own. Nobody to cover my back, no fixed path to follow. My actions and my choices are mine alone, and I don't answer to anyone but myself.

Anakin not only took from me the only family I ever had, all the people I ever cared for. He wiped away the essence of what I am.

 _I have no strings anymore._

I scoff at this delusion.

As scary and unexpected as it is, there's no point denying it. My ties here are stronger than ever.

Anakin stole my family, I stole his.

.

I head home when I'm sore and can't see a thing in the dark.

My 'saber is returned to its place beside its neglected sister.

Our timetables have been brought forward to accommodate our new, nocturnal habits, so the children are still awake and haven't had dinner yet.

I cook something with the little we have. Then, I take them with me into the living room because their mother looks like she needs some time for herself.

I'm on my back, holding Leia above my head with my straightened arm.

She giggles when I pretend to let her fall and tries to touch my face with her chubby fingers.

Luke is crawling on his tummy on a blanket at our side. When he reaches its edge, I draw him back with my free hand.

When Padme comes, she sits by my side, puts her son on her lap and quietly observes us.

I instinctively lower Leia to my chest and sit up, wondering why this woman always makes me feel defenceless.

Her furrow fades before I can mention dinner.

"You are good to them. You are good to me, too."

 _I'm not sure how I would've survived these months without you three._

I just mutter a hollow 'thank you.'

Padme smiles. "It is we who should thank you for your endurance. The kids are driving you mad, and I've been terrible these days."

"Indeed." I wryly grin. She laughs, and I realise how much I wanted her to. "To be sure, living out here alone would've been harder."

The look we exchange lasts too long.

The silence that follows is comfortable. It flows with the desert, where too many words feel out of place. We've learnt to greet it as an old friend, it has become the way we share our lonelinesses.

"We're here together because you asked for me, on Polis Massa," I say. "Yoda would've stayed with you himself, otherwise. Or he would've entrusted you to Senator Organa, had you asked for him as I'd expected you to. I think you might've missed the chance to live in a more pleasant place."

 _With more pleasant company._

"Bail is a dear friend, and he might've expected me to ask for him, too. But he didn't even come to my mind, that day. I'm sorry I stranded you out here with us, I was too scared to think. I just felt it had to be you."

I quirk an enquiring brow at her.

Padme sighs, and her gaze is so intense I lower mine.

"You were a link to the babies' father, but it wasn't just that. I wanted you to have a place in the lives of his children. I couldn't give Anakin back, but I could give a small part of him to you."

I duck my head without saying a word.

I'd made her a widow, and she was worried about me. She even felt she owed me, and was ready to entrust me with the children I had left fatherless.

At the time, all I could feel was my own pain.

"I did nothing to deserve a friend like you," I finally say.

"You do deserve a friend." My hand is taken in a firm grasp. "Besides, I'm glad it's you who's here, and not Bail. He couldn't give me advice about Luke levitating his toys this afternoon."

Padme doesn't look surprised; worried, perhaps.

I nod. Before she goes on, I tell her that I'm not certain about Leia, yet.

"Is there something we could do about it?" She asks.

"If you mean to conceal it, no. If you mean to..." I can't go on.

"To teach them?"

I take a deep breath and shake my head wearily. "Not now, no."

Leia is falling asleep, so I try to be as still as possible.

All my muscles are aching from overexertion.

It's time to have dinner and put these sleepy children to bed.

"Luke's father would've been proud of his Force-sensitivity," I add because I've been thinking about him all day and because his mother looks so discouraged.

"Or, you know, he might've _killed_ him for it."

Her bitter chuckle makes my stomach clench.

She stares at her hands. "Anakin wouldn't have karked it all had he wanted these children, had he wanted me... By Shiraya, stop me. I'm pathetic. I shouldn't worry about these trifles when I'm the cause of so many of yours and the Republic's disgraces."

"You mourn for everyone's losses, except yours. You need to grieve for those too, Padme. Furthermore," I add with a smile. "Holding yourself responsible for the fate of the whole galaxy is, at the very least, arrogant."

I tease her because it's the only way I know to bring a smile back to her face. I need it more than I am willing to admit.

"I have no trouble adding arrogance to my list of flaws," she says. "And I agree, we should seriously stop beating ourselves up."

Not Anakin's smirk, but a genuine, warm smile to dispel the sadness in her eyes. Now that I finally see it, I try to reciprocate, with dubious results.

I get up slowly to avoid awakening Leia, and then offer my free hand to Padme.

I peek over her shoulder to check on Luke. He's sound asleep, and that's no good.

"You know we'll never manage to feed them and put them to bed now."

I sound so hopeless that Padme chuckles as she walks ahead.

I am definitely too fond of her laugh.

"I promise it won't last," I whisper, not sure if she can hear me.

I don't know if I'm referring to the drought in Tatooine or the one in our souls. Whatever it is, I wish I could end it for her.


	7. 7

The desert is halved by a sharp line of shade.

The sky above me is a deep blue, though storm clouds are looming on the horizon.

It may be raining there. I didn't think it was possible.

Padme is at the hydroponic garden, picking what survived the drought.

"How's your sweetheart doing these days?" She asks, without lifting her eyes.

She's asking after Rani, the shopkeeper's daughter at Anchorhead's grocery; freckles, a bantering smile, and way too much imagination.

Padme enjoys teasing me about her crush on Ben Kenobi. I insist that she imagines things, though the girl is pretty obvious, with all that head-tilting and hair-touching.

"Obnoxious," I groan. "I could be her father. She is, what, not even fifteen?"

"Seventeen. Many girls her age are married, here. She's pretty and comes with a shop. You should reconsider her."

Padme doesn't even try to conceal how much all of this amuses her.

"I'm already married," I quip. "A circumstance that I suspect makes up a significant part of my appeal to her. Come to town with me, next time. I need someone to fend off her advances."

She rolls her eyes heavenward.

"Oh, poor Obi-Wan... Can't be his fault if womankind finds him irresistible. Anakin told me about this, and I simply _couldn't_ believe him."

Her giggle ruins the effect of her theatrical taunt. I mouth a sarcastic 'thank you' before she continues.

"Rani wouldn't forgive my intrusion in her plans for you, and she's already spiteful enough to me. You can't be scared of a little girl, you know."

"I certainly can. She even made up a bizarre story about us... Her theory is that everyone on this planet is hiding from something, as there's no other possible reason to settle out here."

Padme raises her eyebrows in agreement.

I hold up a hand, asking her to wait.

"We're wed against your parents' wishes and had to run away. According to her, I became your husband only because you fell pregnant, and now I'm trapped in a loveless union... Rani offered to babysit, to allow us some quality time to save our marriage."

Padme's face darkens at this tale. She tries to hide it with an uncharacteristic mischievous snicker.

"My, that's generous of her. Means you would have to take her back to Anchorhead, later. Now that must be the quality time she is talking about."

I frown and tell her that they've both gone far ahead of me.

I turn at the distant clap of thunder.

The cloud cover is closer now; I give us a few minutes. The air is electric and already smells fresh and sweet.

Padme hands me the basket with our meagre harvest. "Tending anything on this planet makes you wonder why you tried in the first place."

I can't hold back a smirk.

"I wasn't talking about the twins!" Her chuckle fades away too quickly. "Though I admit this isn't the place I had in mind for them."

"We're back where it all started," I point out, "The cycle is complete, whatever that means, and the ends touch. But we're not who we once were."

"I'm not sure about that," Padme grins. "When we met, you were a square Jedi who used sarcasm to hide his awkwardness. You still are."

I break into a smile. "You were a spoiled, childish Queen playing the peasant, so I guess you're right."

She wasn't any of that. Padme was fourteen, ruling a planet, and doing it exceptionally well. It wasn't surprising that she needed to feel like one of the crowd, once in a while.

At that age, I was the most idiotic Padawan that had ever been and, when we first met, I wasn't any better.

I could never help admiring her, even when I'd prefer not to. When I tried to despise her for yielding to Anakin's every desire, I was just jealous I couldn't do the same. Staying judgmental has got harder when I myself had succumbed to him.

Padme's eyes sparkle in spite of her pique. "That's rich, coming from the boy who had to grow facial hair to look like an adult."

"Touché," I concede, feeling an idiot Padawan again.

"Well, you don't need it anymore. Get rid of it the way I did my hair."

I know what she means.

We are not the Senator and the Negotiator anymore, as much as we're not the Queen and the Jedi Padawan.

Actually, we are no one. For the first time in our lives, we're free of our expectations of ourselves. We can be what we want to be.

I stroke my beard, telling her that it stays. Her full-throated laugh is irresistible.

"If Anakin couldn't persuade you, I certainly don't stand a chance." Padme shrugs. "Besides, I'm growing quite fond of it myself."

"Keeping it assured me that I wasn't caving in to all his demands. A trivial issue to defy him on when I'd given in to everything else."

Big, hard drops start pelting the ground, and we share a look of surprise.

Padme closes her eyes and turns her face up to the sky. "We rack our minds to find what we did wrong and what we should've done differently. We did all we could... No one can save who doesn't want to be saved."

She looks back at me, shivering against the stiff breeze. "Even a girl from Anchorhead can see I'm holding you back. This isn't your home any more than it is mine... I'm trying to say that there's nothing to atone and you don't have to stay. We'll be fine, Ben."

The landscape out here has always been so constant that we were convinced it was immutable.

Today, all is changed. Temperature, light, shadows, colours. Everything seems clean and ready to start again.

She's right, I do not _have_ to stay.

.

We run inside, leaving puddles on the steps behind us.

The children are still napping, and all is silent, except for the rumble of thunder.

Padme lingers by the window, unable to take her eyes away from the storm.

I cover her shoulders with a large, coarse towel.

We look at the rain that runs in silver rivulets down the paned windows. It blurs the scenery, softens the harsh light of reality and lets us pretend things aren't as they are.

We could just be Chordè and Ben, stuck in a shotgun marriage, struggling to find a way to make it work.

Her breath fogs up the cooled glass.

I find myself staring at the hollow where her neck ends.

Her head seems naked, exposed. I wonder how touching it would feel.

I turn my gaze away. "Regardless of what Rani may think, I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to. We need more time to let things settle down, outside and inside us. We'll discuss where we wish to go later."

Padme smiles softly. Her head tilts to rests on my shoulder.

"You manage to be reassuring even when you're falling apart... You take care of us, hoping we won't notice. I see now, why Ani loved you."

His last words echo in my mind. Can I tell her that I doubt he ever loved anyone?

I let out a short, uneasy laugh and say that she shouldn't worry about this, that I'm all right.

She straightens up with a sigh. "It wasn't my intention to embarrass you. Only, I'm... relieved Rani's mistaken."

 _So vulnerable._

My chest tightens with something I can't define. For a moment, it seems conceivable for me to draw her head back to my shoulder.

"You're not a burden, Padme. And you don't embarrass me. I'm just not used to..." I trail off, looking for a word I can't pin down. "To _this_. Be patient with me."

Sometimes, I wish I could just accept the comfort she wants to offer me.

She turns to lean against the cloudy glass, smirking. "You Jedi are a real mess."

I feel my lips quirk up into a reluctant smile.

"We are, indeed."

* * *

 _Thank you to my editor truthisfreedom, for her help, for being such a lovely nerd and for always keeping me inspired._

 _Thank you to my Tatooine girl Vradika, for all the desert rain tips._


	8. 8

I learn of the true extent of my ignorance from a little girl.

It's not her fault; my make-believe world was made of nothing, built on sand.

I enter the shop, and Rani greets me with her usual dimpled smile.

"Hey, Mister Kenobi, how's everything down at the farm?"

"We're glad the drought's ended," I reply. "Did it rain here last week, too? It was our first. Green was sprouting all around the farm just an hour later. Chordè was astonished."

The girl looks disappointed; talking about the weather and my supposed wife is effective. I must tread a fine line between hurting and encouraging with her.

I pick out the items I want, ignoring her bold stare.

She stops me just before I leave, and places an old holoviewer on the counter.

"A customer paid with this, yesterday. I've always wanted one, but I can't make it work. I guess it's broken."

She makes our fingers brush giving it to me, and I can't suppress my disapproving Master's glare.

Anakin used to do this when he was her age, 'accidentally' touching me whenever he could. I did it with my own Master, sometimes.

Teenagers are always the same.

I turn the device on, and it gives out static. It just has to be set to the right frequency, and Rani knows this.

I fix it, and she thanks me with worshipful eyes.

We watch the holonews together, our heads close to capture the crackling voices and tiny, grainy images. Both engrossed, for different reasons.

The shameless, condescending propaganda of any dictatorship - this too is always the same. The word Empire alone sickens me.

Red flags and synchronised salutes. The slow walk of the Emperor between fields of white armour. I wonder if my men are there.

The tall, black figure that follows.

I'm racked with nausea.

"Ben?" Rani whispers.

I'm at the door, shivering in the oppressive midday heat.

The air has gotten dense as quicksand.

I stand in the midst of the deserted marketplace, staring at my speeder and repeating to myself that they are not in danger.

My hand reaches for a lightsaber that's not on my belt.

Rani comes outside and tugs at my sleeve, asking me if everything is alright.

I nod and stumble away, blood pounding in my ears.

.

At the Weary Traveller, I'm blind in the dim light.

I grope for a stool and call for an Aldeer I do not touch. The music and the people's chatter soothe me.

His name plays on a loop inside my head. I try to imagine Anakin's body, his pain and hatred.

All I see behind my shut eyelids is the slightly odd walk of the unnaturally tall man.

 _I made him this way._

I'm suffocating when I attempt to centre myself. It's like solving charades in the middle of a sandstorm.

I try to reach for my Master, but I can't see past the turmoil inside me. I persist, cutting off noises, wiping out thoughts and feelings with stubborn desperation.

I breathe with the Force, forcibly slowing my pace to match it. This is not how it works, but it's all I can do. I purge anger, fear and guilt from me until sorrow alone remains.

All we went through these months is pointless. Somehow, he's further from me now than when I thought he was dead.

I have just lost him again.

.

It's dark when I finally leave.

Above my head, the faint, milky ribbon of the Galaxy rim blazes across the night sky. I'm on its border, and the rest of it is inside that stripe.

Anakin's in there, too.

 _That's not Anakin._

Is that my excuse for not telling Padme?

Lightening my burden would only bring her pain, whatever she might decide to do. She will break, and it'll be all my fault. She'll hate me for what I did to him, to them.

I have no idea if I'm protecting her or myself.

.

Padme leaps from the couch when she hears me. A cup slips from her hands and shatters at her feet. Tea spills all over the floor.

She bursts out that I just can't disappear like this, but stops mid-sentence, startled by what she sees in my eyes.

"I watched the news," I explain with a shrug. "I didn't like it."

She purses her lips and strokes my arm. Then, changing her mind at the last second, she buries her face in my shirt.

My hand hovers over her head, but she moves back too soon.

"I panicked." She regains her composure with a deep sigh. "We must buy some comms; another speeder, perhaps."

"You're right, and I'm sorry. Go on, get some rest now."

I bite my lip to hold back words. I long to share my guilt and suffering, have her cry in my arms and say she forgives me.

I'm coming undone and can't be with her another minute, but being left alone terrifies me. She would despise me if she knew why I'm desperate for her.

Padme frowns at the mess on the floor and tells me she must take care of it, first. My expression must look wrong because it makes her mouth curl. Her eyes are achingly, desperately kind as she waits for me to say something.

Eventually, she comes up on her tiptoes to kiss my beard. "Go to bed, Ben. We'll talk about it when you're ready."

I hold her head to my shoulder and don't let her leave, this time.

She's baffled for a second before she returns my embrace.

"For someone who hates being comforted," she mumbles against my chest, "you make not doing it pretty hard."

Her hair is longer and feels like feathers under my fingers. The pulse fluttering in her throat is so real; it makes the storm inside me seem like a distant dream. I surprise myself, brushing my lips over it.

"I'm so sorry," I murmur on her skin.

"For Force's sake." Her head lifts. "Stop saying that."

I cup her face, and she rubs her cheek into my palm like a cat.

We're both frowning, struggling with something too painful to overcome. Our lips draw near, parted, almost touching.

Fear and need war within me, among other confused emotions I choose to ignore.

Whatever is making us lose sight of ourselves would dissolve the moment we start thinking.

"I'm not sure I can do this," I whisper, my protest little more than a ragged breath.

Padme laces our fingers and steps back until her shoulders hit the wall.

"Well," she replies, "I'd like to find out."

The richness of her voice makes my heart plunge wildly.

I undo her dress with clumsy fingers, taken aback by my own impatience.

When it falls at her feet, the wooden pendant she always wears lies against her warm, glowing skin.

Her body has a fragility I'm not used to anymore. It draws me to her, makes me ache to dig my fingers into the backs of her thighs, to be harsh against her softness.

Padme brings my hand to her chest. The small, hard nub straining into my palm demands to be fondled, tasted.

My free hand shifts to her underwear, moves the fabric aside. The way she rocks to meet my fingers washes away all my uncertainties.

I rest my forehead on hers and listen as her breath goes shallow like I'd follow directions on a holomap.

Her head falls back as my mouth leaves its mark on her throat. My teeth scratch the skin of her breast; her hand on the nape of my neck urges me on. Our breathing leaves on hot, rapid pants.

I know she imagines me doing to Anakin what I'm doing to her, the way I can't help seeing him making her tremble like this.

She gasps when I pin her to the wall, and presses her hip against mine.

I'm overcome by the urge to make her gasp louder.

 _Force, I'm about to take her right here._

I close my eyes and inhale deeply to slow the hammering of my heart.

I'm doing this all wrong and for all the wrong reasons.

It is not Anakin's _widow_ I'm pushing against a wall.

I murmur her name, not sure of what I'm trying to tell her.

"I won't break," she heaves, winded.

Her hand slips under my shirt, lifts it above my head and tosses it to the floor.

"I might," I breathe out.

Padme unties my trousers, guides me between her thighs, and it's all so simple. We pretended for so long we didn't know this was going to happen. Now, it feels like we're only doing what we're meant to.

I use my weight to lift her from the floor and enter her with a single, swift thrust that makes us whine together.

Pleasure starts shouting louder than pain and soon, I'm too lost to care about anything else.

Padme clutches my shoulders, pants with each thrust. When I try to withdraw, she crosses her ankles at the small of my back.

I hear myself cry a muffled 'no' into her shoulder as a last, intense surge makes me forget who I am.

* * *

 _To my beta truthisfreedom for telling me 'nah', so I could make it better._

Ps _this one has a fanart too. Go on ao3 or DeviantArt (aalcalinaa) and check it :)_

 _I'm not even ashamed._

* * *

 _If you liked this story so far, or even if you hated it, please consider leaving a comment._

 _I'm working really hard on it, and your words will keep me going._

 _Thank you_

 _Alcalina_


	9. 9

As usual, orgasm brings sharp clarity to my mind.

It's like waking up from a dream; what made perfect sense a minute ago doesn't anymore. The pain I tried to suppress is still there, as real as the woman in my arms, crying in silence.

"Hey," I whisper, my chest clenching.

 _There is no passion._

Yet, the Force found a way, amid drought and desolation, unheeding of who we wished to be. Free will is an illusion, and I feel tricked.

Padme laces her arms behind my shoulders and hides her face in the crook of my neck.

I carry her to her room and let her down on the sheets. She doesn't let me go, so I lie by her side.

"I'm..." I start.

"Don't. Please. It's not anything you did. It just… It felt like we were leaving something behind." She wipes her eyes with a finger and closes my lips with a light touch of hers.

My semen shines on her thighs, and I have not even kissed her.

I hold her tighter and murmur soothing words into her hair until her breathing steadies. Somehow, this feels more intimate than what we'd just shared.

I stare at the ceiling, idly caressing her and pondering my overall inability to get anything right. I ask myself if it was anguish, vengeance, or lust that moved me, and painfully admit it was all of them.

As the sky turns grey, it's the quiet hum of the Force that cradles me to sleep.

.

I dream of an infinite labyrinth, whose centre I must find before night falls. When the Suns set, I sit down and hang my head in defeat.

Padme comes out of nowhere, wearing purple brocade, her thick braids twisted on top of her head.

"It never ends," I tell her. "There's no centre."

She caresses my hair, the way she does with the children. "Each point is the centre. You're already there, Ben."

.

I wake up, and Padme's curled up against me, looking serene. She trusts me, and it hurts because she shouldn't.

Despite her delicate frame, the lines of the muscles on her shoulders and arms are neat, functional. She looks defenceless in a way that makes my gut wrench, though strength emanates from her all the same.

I fantasise about waking her up with a kiss and giving all that I denied her before.

She caught me unguarded, and it's not something I'm used to.

I've had women before, but I've always been careful enough not to have to worry about consequences; I've always felt I knew exactly where we were heading. This time, it's not me that traces the path.

I end up wondering who Yoda had in mind to take care of whom, sending us here. If he'd ever envisioned this very moment.

Last time I was in this room, I told her I'd killed Anakin. Little I knew my lies were even worse than I supposed then; I've never liked deceptions, but I'm surely growing used to them.

There's a notebook on her nightstand, its leather cover worn and wrinkled, a pencil between its creased pages. Besides a small chest, the only other piece of furniture is a wooden chair in a corner. The few faded clothes strewn on it mark the distance between Coruscant and Tatooine in a way that is so absolute, I physically feel it.

What happened last night would've been impossible between Master Kenobi and Senator Amidala; it's normal between Ben and Chordè.

This is a nice tale to tell myself.

We've become different; we've even dreamt of being someone else, but if I've been foolish and rough, I only have myself to blame.

I slide away and sit up on the bed, unable to look at her anymore. I keep a hand on her shoulder, though, fearing I won't be able to touch her again if we break contact.

Padme yawns and strokes my back, maybe sharing my fear.

"You and the kids let me sleep in..."

"I've been disrespectful and irresponsible. Forgive me," I blurt out.

I feel her eyes on my back. She supports herself on an elbow to assess my reaction.

"I'm the terrible person if someone has to be one. I needed… closure and I used you to get one." She surprises me with a chuckle. "I've never been asked for forgiveness, the morning after. Shiraya's word, I practically jumped on you. I can't see how you were irresponsible, and I assure you, I do not feel 'disrespected'."

I don't dare ask how she felt, then.

I must look completely lost, because she straightens up, feigning calmness.

"It's all right, Ben. Let's stick to the plan - stay here until the smokes clear, then find a place to live. We're grown-ups, I'm sure we both had our reasons. Nobody's hurt, and nothing's changed."

"Jedi do not produce offspring," I sigh, barely audible.

"You're not going to produce anything with me." The bitterness in her snicker makes me turn toward her. "The twins messed that up once and for all."

Before I reply, she adds with a disarming smile there's no need to pretend I'm not relieved.

I frown and tell her that I had no idea, so my guilt remains.

"Force forbid that Obi-Wan Kenobi absolves himself for once..."

Padme is lightheartedly mocking me, and her attitude definitely isn't what I was expecting.

As she gets dressed, I'm too confused to conceal my staring.

"Don't you want to know what was on the holonews?" I ask when she's standing in the doorway.

I hope I'm not tricking her into deciding on my behalf.

"No, thanks. I would have to sleep with a dear friend to get over it. So _uncivilised_."

Padme hushes my laughter with a gesture of her hand as someone's calling my name.

We've never had guests before, the foreign voice sounds misplaced.

"...Rani?" I stammer.

"She must've sensed that I was stealing her man," Padme jokes, running upstairs.

* * *

 _Editing: truthisfreedom_

 _Dream inspiration: my philosopher kid_

 _You can find the fanart that goes with this chapter on my ao3 (alcalina) or deviant (aalcalinaa)_


	10. 10

I grab my shirt from the floor, frowning at the memory of how it got there, and peek inside the nursery.

The children are standing at their cribs' bannisters, impatient to get free.

I pick up Leia.

She looks me in the eye and resolutely slaps my face.

"I was about to do that myself," I whisper.

It's a while before I eventually walk into the kitchen, a freshly changed and dressed child on each side.

Rani springs from her chair. The excitement in her voice belies her coyness. "I know my timing's off, Mister Kenobi, but I was worried sick. My sister dropped me here on her way to Mos Espa."

"I shouldn't have left you like I did," I reply, placing Luke in his highchair. "But I'm grateful for your solicitude. I'm taking you back in-"

"We agreed she stays for lunch," Padme interrupts, ignoring my glare. "You'll take her home later. Now, go play outside while I cook these brats their breakfast."

Rani offers to help but makes sure not to sound too eager.

I kiss Padme's forehead before leaving, murmuring that she'll pay for this.

She cracks a grin and shows me the door.

.

Outside, Rani and I look at each other, expectant eyes meeting annoyed ones.

"Berry-picking time," I sigh, handing her Padme's stick and hat.

The girl takes them without a word and docilely follows.

She trails behind me, holding her silence.

My mind travels between yesterday and this morning, between Anakin and Padme. I can't merge the holonews into my reality, so I keep repeating it to myself. Anakin might as well be dead; the hole in my chest is still the same, just deeper.

My life has not changed, if not for the fact that I slept with his wife, and she and I agreed this means nothing.

From the top of a dune, I point at two Galoomps rooting around a dead tree.

"You're my lucky charm. I never find desert plums," I say, and jog down to scare away the creatures.

"It's the rain," Rani huffs. "You're gonna find basketfuls over the next few days."

She huddles in a sliver of shadow as I unearth the warm, smooth fruits.

I toss her one and cross my legs by her side.

The fruit is so juicy I close my eyes. The children will love it.

Rani gives me a side glance, wiping her chin with a thumb. "Chordè told me you lost someone in the war."

"Everyone from the Core Worlds has. It's in the past, young one, and we should look ahead... At your projects for the future, for instance."

The girl starts rambling about vague plans of working in a big city of the Inner Rim, as soon as she convinces her father she's old enough. The light in her eyes resembles the one that sparkled in Ahsoka's, once.

I tell myself they're the same age, but this is silly. Ahsoka's an adult now, taller than me - alive because I can't even consider the alternative.

I convinced myself that leaving gave her a chance to survive, and spared her much. I never wonder what would be different had she stayed.

Rani shakes me out of my memories. "What about your plans?"

I smile, remembering Padme talking about ours a little over an hour ago. "Just… family, you know."

"Ugh, so boring. Where did your dreams go?"

I ask her why she assumed I haven't fulfilled them, but she's talking over my words.

"What made you fall for your wife, after all?"

"She's…" I flounder, more embarrassed than I should be. "Kind, I guess."

Rani explains between giggles that Chordè used those same words just this morning.

For no good reason, my chest tingles.

"Kind!" She cries. "Your woman should make your blood run hot!"

"She… does?" I massage my forehead, wondering what I'm talking about.

My giddy smile doesn't get past Rani's close examination.

"You're not really married, are you?" She doesn't notice I'm choking on my plum and continues in her signature dreamy voice, "You're already married to some old lady. You had an affair with this hot, younger woman, and she tricked you into getting her pregnant."

She searches my face for a sign she's hit close to the mark.

I can't help imagining how being part of this story would feel, and cover my face with a hand.

.

We're home by noon, flushed and exhausted, bringing back an unusual abundance of fruits and berries.

Just as I'd expected, the twins are delighted by the plum puree. Leia spits it everywhere, but she enjoys it nonetheless.

Spoon-feeding her, I announce our fake marriage has finally been exposed.

Padme's coughing fit is compensation enough for saddling me with Rani this morning.

When I explain what I'm talking about, she kicks me under the table.

"So, how did you say you guys met?" asks Rani, eyes on her dish.

Before I can retort that this shouldn't concern her, Padme flatly answers that she was to marry my late brother.

I frown, for this tale of woe is still less complicated than the truth.

Rani stumbles over her words, thrilled by the drama. "Are… Are the children your niece and nephew, Ben?"

"They're mine." My answer aimed at closing this risky topic but came out too resolute, too definitive. Too true.

Padme peeks at me, speechless. I wish I could take my words back.

"Of course they are," she intervenes, eyes boring into mine. "Ben was there the day they were born, and every day since."

Rani's train of thoughts is already running elsewhere. "I wish they had their dad's hair; gingers are cute. Try again until you get one, okay?"

"Sure, dear." Padme smiles and stands up to clean the table. "I like them too."

.

In the evening, Padme brings me a caf and sits with me on the entrance steps, where we casually meet when the children are asleep, and we are too bored and lonely.

"I took our cover story too far, and now you're uneasy," she says, studying me with her head tilted.

I show her the small distance between my thumb and pointing finger.

At least, I'm not lying about this.

"I'll be extra-uncomfortable for a while, but I'll get back to my usual plain-uncomfortable soon."

She laughs. My focus drifts from her eyes to her mouth. Somehow, I manage to lower it further into my cup.

The man looking back is old and tired.

I can't tell her that Rani reminded me of Ahsoka, or how the thought of a very alive Anakin has haunted me today.

Apologising for my inappropriate comment about the twins at lunch would only make it worse. I am excruciatingly aware of our shoulders touching, and can't talk about this either.

"You drive Rani home, next time," I eventually say. "I had to improvise a driving lesson to sit behind her on the speeder."

"Well, why would you…" Padme starts chuckling. "Oh, my. I wish I could've seen your face."

I stroke my chin, struggling to look thoughtful. "You were right all along. Womanhood keeps jumping on me, lately."

She fiercely reddens and slaps the back of my head. "Not that Anchorhead offers many alternatives, you womaniser..."

"This place has its upsides, after all." I gravely nod. "Besides, you know, Rani's dad is still a charming man..."

Padme smirks and says she will give him a chance, next time. Realising she just implied there will be one, she blushes some more.

Our eyes meet, and lower together.

"I'm just saying that, Anchorhead or not, I still consider myself lucky," I add, rubbing my neck.

I wonder if saying anything is so hard for her too, if she must hide her thoughts like I hide mine. Then, I remember how big my secrets are.

My empty cup means it's time to go to our rooms for the night.

"Tell me again I didn't mess everything up," I say, mostly to gain a minute.

"We didn't." She shakes her head, staring at her knees. "It was a mess already, wasn't it?"

* * *

 _editing: truthisfreedom_


	11. 11

Between who you were and who you will be stretches an uncharted wasteland.

Monsters inhabit it, gnawing on the bones of those who went astray. Lonely desert flowers bloom between cracks in the hard ground.

You can't tell who you'll be when you come out the other side, or if you even will.

Padme and I have been crossing this land together; not holding hands, but marching side-by-side like comrades. We've fought off monsters, and now we're soldiers after the war, unable to be civilians, lingering near each other because no one else will understand.

This is why I miss our doorstep rendezvous.

I decided avoiding them is safer because I'm ashamed of the idiocies I blurt out and of my unreasonable staring.

What sense do these make? I haven't stopped being a Jedi. Padme's as attractive as she was a week ago, and still technically off-limits.

I keep forgetting Anakin's behind that mask; what remains of him, at least. Falling asleep, I indulge in the fantasy that I might've misinterpreted the holonews. Or, I imagine a different ending to our duel - one where I do not walk away like a coward.

I dream of him dying, and even my wishes are painful.

In the desert, I share everything with my Master, though he rarely answers. When I rave about finishing what I started on Mustafar, he laconically remarks that it isn't what my heart is telling me to do.

In any case, I'm not pursuing the Emperor or his retinue, yet. I'm still playing the moisture farmer here.

I wonder how long you have to wear a mask before it becomes who you are.

.

Rani drops by the farm, sometimes.

We didn't adopt her, just the opposite. She brings small gifts from the shop, or something she made herself: cookies, a Poonten grass bracelet, a wooden toy for the children.

I enjoy her visits, and not just because Padme and I are forced together when Rani's around. The girl is funny, noisy, and has a quick, intuitive intelligence I can't help admiring. She is balancing on the edge of that golden, dreadful moment in life when all the choices are still hers to make. Her hopes and dreams are precariously stacked up, and I hope they never collapse.

Even so, I can't help envisioning her in a few years, flabby from pregnancies, half a dozen snotty kids clinging to her tatty skirt, married to a rude moisture farmer whose most prominent skill is impregnating her once a year.

My new cynicism makes me sigh inwardly.

.

I watch the holonews with Rani when I bring her back home - she's definitely ready for that speeder license - and learn uncountable painful things.

Padme never joins us, as she prefers listening to them from me.

I can't say this is not what I prefer, too.

Anakin still laces his hands behind his back when he stands, though he doesn't shift his weight from one leg to the other anymore. He's as still as a statue, or something dead.

I try to guess what's on his mind; if his dreams about Mustafar match mine, if 'his new Empire' is what he expected it to be. If he thinks about us, sometimes.

I would've known, once, just by closing my eyes.

.

Absurdly, we three discuss politics over lunch.

Affecting detachment, Padme and I make endless conjectures over the future of the Galaxy, frustrated by the lapdog media.

Tatooine is so isolated that our rants must sound like a fairy tale to Rani. In any case, she listens and learns, probably wondering why a couple of farmers care this much.

Once in a while, Rani insists on babysitting the twins and escorts us outside with an annoying smile of complicity.

Padme lets out a heartfelt laugh and holds my hand until we're past the first dune.

"Stop worrying," she says. "Luke won't levitate anything. They'll be all right."

I show her the few attractions of our neighbourhood, realising the Jundland Wastes is home to me more than the farm itself.

I take her to my stomping grounds and observe her expression, wanting her approval.

Padme enjoys the hiking but is definitely more curious about living things than geology. Sand people fascinate her most of all. She enquires about them all the time, and I suspect she might be somehow concerned about their civil rights.

This afternoon, we follow a few Banthas to the Needles where they forage for Molo-Shrubs growing between the rocks. This is the herd I usually wander with, the one that grazes around me while I train, meditate, or talk to ghosts.

I don't tell Padme I know each animal by name, though.

I watch her as she drinks from my canteen.

The wind slaps her face with tousled locks she continuously tries to secure behind her ears. The back of her head is a chaotic tumble of curls.

She looks wildish, untamed. I enjoy the idea that nobody else, not even Anakin, has seen her like this.

When I fail to bury it, my longing burns and still is somehow languidly enjoyable; the kind of pleasant pain you get when a massage hits the right spot. I learnt long ago that pretending it isn't there won't make it disappear.

Padme quirks an eyebrow at me, touching her face for something out of place. My stare must've been too impudent.

"You hair's a mess," I equivocate. "You'll need someone better than me to fix it."

She thoughtfully pulls a strand from her forehead. Its end touches the tip of her nose.

"I've no idea what I should do about it," she grumbles, sitting in the shadow cast by a pillar. "How the k-word have you been this neat since day one?"

She looks at a loss. I'm afraid this is more about Senators and farmers than haircuts.

With a shrug, I murmur that 'short' suits her and feel useless and weird at her smirk.

I spend the next ten minutes surveying my kriffing Banthas, trying to remember why I'm keeping her at a distance.

"You know, taking Banthas out to pasture is not what Rani imagines us doing," Padme reflects on our way back.

"Well, she should know better," I reply. "Ben and Chordè wouldn't need her intervention. The children aren't stuck with them, and they have more than one bedroom."

"Not that they'd need one," Padme mutters under her breath.

* * *

 _Editing: truthisfreedom_  
 _(thank you again for Rani's beautiful name. She wouldnt be the same, without it.)_


End file.
